Machinations
by zorrie
Summary: Cassius and Brutus, discussing... well, Caesar. but there are slashy undertones, if you squint.


A bit of nonsense which I wrote for Lauren, and thought I may as well share.

Mixing iambic pentameter with narration is...problematic, to say the least. But I couldn't very well write Brutus and Cassius speaking modern english, so - here's the result? Well, _I_ think it came off rather well. Considering. :)

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Portia's gaze was pained, but not accusing. Not yet. Brutus could hardly bear to look her in the face; how could he be deserving of such a wife? But that was it – he wasn't.

"No, Portia. Perhaps later."

She said nothing. With Brutus it was always later, always soon, always not yet. But the unhappy twist of his smile made her yield, although she swore she wouldn't. The way his brow knit in confusion tugged at her sympathy, and Portia knew she could not insist on pressing Brutus so when he was already in such a melancholy state. Whatever the matter was, she would let him tell her on his own. Surely it was not so terrible. She only wished he wouldn't brood so.

Brutus saw Portia's face soften. He recalled Cassius' words earlier –. It only increased his disgust. _Portia pities me_, he thought. With firmer resolve he pushed her away, turning toward the door so he would not have to see her face. He was not so base as to need the understanding of his wife.

"Lucius, see to the door!"

Lucius opened the door with not inconsiderable trepidation. He had come to recognize that knock, and who it meant. More importantly, he knew _what_ it meant. Orders were orders, however, and Lucius did not think Brutus would be convinced if he told him it had been only a vagrant beggar. He opened the door.

"Took you long enough. Well? Are you inviting me in, or shall I stand here all night?"

Lucius was tempted to shut the door in his face. Instead, he stepped aside as Cassius strode in. Then he went about his business. Cassius knew where everything was.

It was Cassius. Of course it was.

[insert witty paragraph from brutus' POV. I dunno. I got sick of him.]

(koo koo ka choo, Caius Cassius, Brutus loves you more than you can know, oh oh oh  
I CAN LISTEN TO SIMON AND GARFUNKEL AND BE REMINDED ME OF SHAKESPEARE.  
yes. kill me.)

Cassius watched him carefully, ever vigilant.

Recumbent on the porch like a cat curled in the sun, Brutus gazed out across the streets.

"Heard you anything from Cicero?"

"No."

"Pity," Brutus sighed. They lapsed again into silence.

Cassius was half tempted to bring it up, but – it would make Brutus wary, and Cassius needed him calm. Unsuspecting.

No second thoughts must be allowed to dissuade him.

Once Brutus' resolution was set, Cassius knew he would resign himself to that choice come what may. The task was not in keeping Brutus' course constant, but in leading him to reach a decision at all.

"Have you spoken lately with Caesar?"

_Have you seen what he is becoming?_

Brutus rolled his shoulders, rested his chin in his palm. "No."

Cassius thought he might choke him.

"There is a meeting yet to be held at the Senate three days hence, Cassius, so I will discourse with him ere the week is wasted. What vexes you so?"

Smile, Cassius. Patience.

"Only that I fear our Caesar grows more covetous of Rome's great honors even by the day," Cassius said pleasantly. It took quite an effort. Brutus had better appreciate it.

Brutus gave no sign of having noticed. Cassius hadn't the slightest idea what Brutus was so absorbed in, lest it be some private thought – and how a man could bear to muse so heavily Cassius knew not, although Brutus certainly found it no trouble. Indeed, Cassius wondered if Brutus were not more comfortable alone with his own mind than out in the affairs of men.

But enough. Cassius would not be made to think more deeply than need be to divine Brutus' perplexities. If Brutus had anything to divulge he knew Cassius would always hear him. Of course he knew that.

"Cassius," Brutus began, but seemed to think better of it. That was Brutus' problem. Too much damned thinking.

"That would be me, yes."

Cassius' flippant tone earned him a weary glance from Brutus. The hell he cared.

"Cassius, you seem impatient as of late."

_Most perceptive_, Cassius wanted to retort. Instead he held his peace, or tried to; "If I have, what of it?"

The comment seemed to offend Brutus, whose brows knit together in perplexion. Or maybe he wasn't offended. Maybe he was just confused. Oh, to hell with Brutus and his moods.

"You know you are my greatest friend, Caius.  
And yet it were as though I knew you not,  
Or you knew not me: you stared so with such far remov'ed eyes.  
What calculations trouble you, good friend,  
That even your smile's more like to a grimace?"

Cassius laughed indulgently. "Fret not, gentle Brutus. Had I so fierce  
A mind, which happily I have not,  
I'd dare say you feel yourself neglected.  
No, as I've never aught but wished you well  
I say I deem some certain of your actions inadvisable."

"Cassius, speak not so.  
You would have me turn from Caesar, who I love,  
And would not else be mov'ed to repulse:  
You with your spleen and machinations of  
I know not what: claiming clearer insight  
Than mine own, misgivings more shrewd than any."

"Did I say more than any? If so, then  
Inadvertently I erred; for there is one man here, one Brutus,  
Who knows, I fancy, a deal more than I,  
And I know much. Yes, I know more than much.  
Yet who shall snuff the light of what he knows  
To blind the king he serves? No, my Brutus,  
A wick like that would smoke and smell of treason."

"Your words are mostly smoke, if I may say."

_What have I done_ this_ time?_ Cassius sought out Brutus' gaze, but he fixed his eyes to some spot left of Cassius' head and refused in obstinance to look away.

"What is it you have seen, and what are we to do? I wish no ill  
To Caesar. I know no evil of him,  
Or of his plans; and I'll hear none of either,  
Save what you, on your oath, may tell me now.  
I look yet for trails of your dark fancy  
To blur your testament."

"No, Brutus, there are no blurs or fancies  
Exercising today where I am – why,  
Caesar will ascend anon, betimes, and  
With him our declension and Rome's tumult  
To sound the appointed progress of his feet;  
And he will not be lost along the way,  
For though there are those who else would oppose,  
Caesar's conned them all. No, Brutus, there are  
No blurs or fancies, 'less it be that your  
Determination has made them for your purpose what they seem.  
But here I beg your pardon, Brutus.  
We reticent ones are given to say too much,  
With our tongues once in action. Pray forgive."

Brutus' hands clenched to fists, and his eyes were dark.

Cassius didn't want to think about why that intrigued him. He didn't want to think at all. Brutus had done nothing but think, it seemed, for months, and it had done him no good whatsoever. Cassius pulled his hand away, but instead of doing something rational like arguing his case more insistently or playing up Brutus' guilt, Cassius looked at Brutus and shut up.

"No man were more the vassal of his friend than I, but I'm damned if I'll be owned."

In a becoming darkness Cassius smiled away the first accession of his anger. "Say not like that," he answered, musically. "Be temperate, friend. Remember always  
Your station and your birth.  
We're born for what we're born for, Brutus;  
And you and I are born to serve our rights.  
What matters it, if we be loyal men –  
With only one defection?"

Brutus grabbed Cassius by the shoulder. His grip was shockingly strong – strong enough that Cassius was sure he would have bruises later. "Which is – what?"

But strong as Brutus was, Cassius was stronger. In one violent motion he twisted himself free and pushed Brutus back into his chair, looking down at him with unfathomable eyes. "Delay – procrastination – overcaution –  
Or what word now assimilates itself  
The best with your inquiring mood, my brother.  
These operations that engage us now  
Were planned and executed long ago,  
Had I but acted then on what was written  
No less indelibly than at this hour,  
Though maybe not so scorchingly on me.  
Forgive me, Brutus, when I say more  
Than my raw vanity may reconcile  
With afterthought.  
But now the stars are crying in their courses  
For this to end, and we are men to end it."

"No." Brutus rose, lifting one eyebrow as if daring Cassius to object.

Cassius said nothing as Brutus brushed past him, and watched him walk stiffly across the atrium. He was trembling only slightly, but Cassius could see it.

_Have I not been courteous enough, have I not catered to his ideological idiocy, have I not incurred Rome's and our honor's demise enough for him? Ye gods, what remains undone that I must do?_

Brutus turned away, addressing the wall as he spoke. "Cassius. I – "

.

oooooooooooookay my parents yelled at me to go to bed.

so actually I''m gonna have to stop right here. worth continuing, someday?

eh. probably not.


End file.
